


His Mother's Tongue

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cuban Nursey, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Racism, Xenophobia, mentions of food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 15:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: A different thought floats into his mind. Maybe there’s dozens of relatives out there who don’t know he exists, who will never know who he is—and they matter more to him than he ever will to them.





	His Mother's Tongue

The first time Chris watches _The Joy Luck Club_ , it’s with his sister Nora when he’s fourteen and she’s nine. At the end, she cries for a few minutes before mumbling that she needs to go find their mother.

Chris sits there, staring at the credits until they fade to black, restarting the DVD menu. On the surface, he feels like he shouldn’t be conflicted. It’s a film about mothers and daughters. Of which he is neither. He doesn’t have a strained relationship with his parents. They understand him, and he’s never felt like he had to hide a part of who he is to make them happy.

His paternal grandparents don’t always get his love of hockey, or why he takes his long board everywhere. But they try, and he stumbles over pronouncing tones in Cantonese whenever he’s feeling particularly brave or confident (most of the time, it’s only when he’s feeling both).

But they way June meets her long lost sisters at the end of the movie leaves a lump in his throat for hours afterward. A thought sticks in his mind like mold for days, maybe weeks, afterward.

He could have family out there. Great Aunts, cousins—more relatives than he can probably fathom—waiting for him on another continent. Maybe they know he exists and they’re waiting for him like a phantom pain. As if they know who he is and what he’ll be capable of someday, and they’re waiting for him to find his way “home”.

But then again, the Bay Area _is_ his home. It’s the only place he’s ever known.

A different thought floats into his mind. Maybe there’s dozens of relatives out there who don’t know he exists, who will never know who he is—and they matter more to him than he ever will to them.

Once he starts high school, the thought evolves. He meets kids who are fifth or sixth generation American and kids who were adopted. They’re the kind of people who feel even more detached from his conceptions of being Cantonese, or Chinese, or just generally East Asian, than he does. They’re more used to discussing how people are “surprised” about their excellent speaking skills than whether they prefer pork buns steamed or baked cha siu bao. They talk about being Asian as if it’s something they have to live with instead of an identity they bare proudly to the world.

The older Chris gets, and the less he sees his grandparents, the more he thinks he understands why being Asian American can be an afterthought to people. Especially when the rest of the country likes to depreciate “American” in favor of “Asian”. He watches _The Joy Luck Club_ when he feels like he’s not engaging enough with being Asian American. He watches _The Joy Luck Club_ when he’s been at school for too long and his suitemate Kyle won’t stop talking about his trust fund.

In English his junior year, they’re assigned Amy Tan’s “Mother Tongue”. He learned two things from reading it.

One, no one really gets what it’s like to be an immigrant unless they are or are living with one. No one understands how difficult it is to see people he loves being skirted to the side because their English isn’t good enough, because their customs and ideals are different than the fifty cent coca-cola lifestyle everyone sips here through a thin straw. No one thinks to look beyond their limited point of view to see there’s so much more to being American than a command of its unofficial language and white skin.

Two, he understood being Asian American more than he thought. It felt validating and raw to sit and think about the ways he constantly has to negotiate himself with the world. How he tries to be more respectful and serious around his family (who love him, who think he’s hilarious and encourage him at every opportunity), but then he’s excited and agreeable with older students he wants to impress. He’s kind of a dick with his friends. He’s a “good student”. He almost got caught smoking weed in the dorms with his friend Eden when he was sixteen. He’s ruthless on the ice.

He puts on a different mask for so many people that he can’t be sure which version is his “real” self. Yet, it’s always him. He’s always just—navigating through a sea of trepidation and pleasantries.

When college recruiters start showing up to games, he pays attention. He gets shut outs. He works more furiously than he ever has in his life. Asian Americans don’t play hockey. Adults don’t see him and his braces and think “tough” and “masculine”.  They think “sweet kid” and coo at him like a baby.

He looks at colleges as far away from San Francisco as possible. Maybe it’ll make him miss home. Maybe he’ll have a chance to prove himself, to make a new name for himself that’s different, better, more him.

Samwell makes an offer. Chris would be stupid to refuse.

He starts college. Some of the guys are great; some of them are well meaning but too much for his taste. Dex is a work in progress, but he looks at Chris like they’re already best friends. That has to count for something, he thinks.

And then there’s Derek, _Nursey_.

Sometimes Nursey’s eyes meet Chris’ like he’s saying ‘look at these idiots’ or ‘can you believe this bullshit?’. It’s difficult to keep himself from laughing in moments like those. Nursey gets feeling left out. He gets not fitting in despite spending a lifetime trying to jam themselves in spaces that weren’t carved for them—but for someone “better”. Someone more authentic or brilliant or generally more impressive than another Cantonese American kid from NoCal and a half Black guy from a nice part of Manhattan.

It’s easy for them to become friends. It’s easier than breathing air, Chris realizes. It isn’t until halfway through the Spring semester that their bond is cemented, however. Nursey shows up at the house with some homework and the promise to play Chris in Smash when he’s read enough.

Derek gets through a few articles before pulling out a few more packets. The article on the top catches Chris’ eye.

“You’re reading Amy Tan?”

“Huh? Oh, yea,” Nursey says cautiously. “It’s for Intersectional Identities in American Lit.”

“Have you read her stuff before?” he asks.

“I think I read this in high school, actually,” Nursey admits.“It’s about how she talks differently  with her mom right?”

“Yea,” Chris says softly. “It’s pretty awesome.”

“Nice,” Nursey says. “I haven’t read it in a while. I think I fucking cried last time I read it.”

It occurs to Chris that  Nursey doesn’t talk about his emotions easily. He feels something twitch in the pit of his stomach. The confession feels significant. Nursey’s offering him a glimpse into who he is. Chris would be stupid to refuse it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks Nursey.

Nursey sighs, cracking his neck. “I guess...It’s weird, y’know? People don’t like talking about me being AfroLatino.”

“It’s like I have to be Black or mixed but I can’t be what I actually am? I can’t be AfroCubano because people haven’t fucking heard of it?”

“People ask if I’m from Hong Kong all the time,” Chris offers.

He looks at Chris. He’s never mentioned to Derek that green is his favorite color. Not when his eyes are so clear and bright, and the exact shade of green that makes Chris’ heart thump a little faster.

“C, that’s messed up as fuck,” Nursey says.

Chris snorts. “I know. But keep going.”

Nursey shrugs, picking at a loose thread on the couch. The couch is puke green. It’s lumpy, worn, and sometimes it oozes grease as much as it oozes old couch stuffing. It’s ugly and rumpled, but it serves its purpose well. Bitty can’t stand it, and makes a point to grumble every time Chris sleeps on it before a game. But Chris weirdly identifies with it. He understands it on an implicit level. No one wants to give the couch a shot either. They’re doomed to be misfits in their own domain—a shoddy couch and a Cali guy living on the East Coast for the first time in over fifteen years.

Being around Samwell reminds him of being young and carefree. He doesn’t think he ever felt as left out at three as he does at Kegsters.

“People look at my mom like she has two heads,” Nursey says, bringing him out of his thoughts.  “They see a dark skinned Black woman and already think she’s uneducated.”

“That’s fucked up,” Chris responds.

Nursey snorts. “Tell me about it.” He takes a deep breath. “People don’t get her accent, they think it’s weird and they judge her for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Chris says.

“It’s shitty, but whatever.”

“Sometimes I order takeout for my grandparents so restaurants don’t fuck up their order and then blame them.””

“...I proofread all my mom’s emails.”

“All of them?”

“Lira used to,” Nursey explains. “My dad tries sometimes. But he’s kinda bad at proofreading. Plus, my mom says I’m great at translating what she thinks into something cohesive for other people.”

Chris grins to himself. Nursey’s a better guy than he gives himself credit for. He’s slow to warm, but he looks out for every person he cares about. Whenever they’re together, Chris doesn’t feel lost. He feels wanted, and understood. It’s exhilarating to say the least.

“That’s ‘swawesome,” Chris murmurs.

“Thanks, C,” Nursey says with a small smile.

Chris thinks he could get used to the sound of Nursey thanking him, like he’s valued and cherished. Not for the first time, Chris thinks that they have more in common than people can see on the surface. He wants to learn every inch of what makes Derek tick.

After they’ve finished a few rounds of Smash, he nudges Chris with his elbow.

“Thanks...for earlier,” he says.

“Of course,” Chris says casually. “We’re friends, Nursey.”

“No, you really listened to me,” he insists. “You’re awesome, C.”

Chris grins before shrugging nonchalantly. “I got your back.”

“Yea, us immigrant kids have to stick together, right?”

Chris grins broadly. “Totally.”

It shouldn’t mean much. But for the first time in years, Chris feels like he doesn’t have to be either Asian or American. They talk about Amy Tan’s works for a while after that. The next weekend, Chris shows Nursey _The Joy Luck Club_ for the first time. They rewatch it every time one of them is feeling lost in their own mind. Other people don’t understand it, but that’s ok.

They don’t have to.


End file.
